


Duty and Love

by SpookyMiscreant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Everyone Is Alive, M/M, Peter POV, Peter is depressed, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-21
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-05-15 20:23:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19303174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpookyMiscreant/pseuds/SpookyMiscreant
Summary: The McCall’s and the Hale’s had long been allies, so long in fact that many bloodlines had joined over the generations. The war that erupted following the murder of King Michael’s eldest son by a bloodline purist pitted families and friends against one another, in what would soon be named The Bloody War.Twenty years later Cora's birthday ball brings an emissary from the McCall kingdom into Peter's life in a whirlwind of quick wit and sharp smiles.





	Duty and Love

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the Steter Reverse Bang! This was supposed to be 10k and finished a long time ago but depressions a bitch and life in a hassle. I hope this still lives up to the hype of participating in an event like this! Nagasleeps is an amazing artist and < a href=”https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SteterReverseBang/works/19303306" > here's their art work! < /a >

The McCall’s and the Hale’s had long been allies, so long in fact that many bloodlines had joined over the generations. The war that erupted following the murder of King Michael’s eldest son by a bloodline purist pitted families and friends against one another, in what would soon be named The Bloody War.

Peter's eldest brother Derek had been wrestling in a tavern on the kingdom border when he'd been slain by a blood purist by the name of Argent. The Argents had long been in service to King Adam and the McCall dynasty and had control of the king's forces, the conclusion that this specific racist Argent was sent by the King was a quickly reached one. 

Peter had known the McCall heir Raphael and had hopped if King Adam would not denounce the openly racist Argents that his son Raphael would once the war had started. His hopes were dashed on the blades of Argent and McCall men alike four years later as he tore his way through the throngs of soldiers before him. He'd been fourteen for two months now and had killed two hundred and forty-seven men. 

As King Michael's youngest son, Peter held little to no rank when he'd joined the war effort. He'd been blessed with a quick mind and a certain viciousness on the field that left him standing as so many around him fell, these gifts carried him through the ranks until he found himself in the General's tent with the other Brigadiers a year after stepping foot on the battlefield and when his body count had reached one thousand, six hundred and twenty-three.

Peter spent the next year in the wild North of their Continent fighting Hale and McCall citizens both, those fearless countrymen who'd not wanted the war to reach them. He was a General at sixteen and his death toll in the two thousands. Both King Adam and King Michael had been replaced by their children after six long years of fighting and Peter held out hope that King Raphael and Queen Talia would bring about an end to this war. 

Peter had started having waking nightmares of blood staining his hands and screams filling his ears after his first major battle, but had only found a solution to these manifestations of guilt and horror in the days after his ascension to General. General Blackwood had always worn a pair of onyx black gloves with fingertips as sharp as his own claws, they were as magnificent as they were intimidating. The gloves served him well after General Blackwood's death at the battle of Beacon. Peter wore them everywhere, it was crucial he did not look at his hands lest he see blood that would not wash away. Nothing could help the screams that filled his ears day and night, though during daylight they were mostly real screams of friends and foes alike. 

Peter's regiment had just finished taking down an opposing regiment twice their size when two messengers arrived. His heart had frozen in his throat, already knowing what a letter sent to both Generals could only mean. Peter's fears were confirmed when he read the date of the cease fire, two months ago. Two months of killing innocent people he could've spared. His body count might have been three thousand, two hundred and seventy-nine, but seven hundred and ninety-one of those souls could have been spared. He'd killed hundreds of people with his own hands, not to mention the thousands his regiment had killed as a whole in the two months the letter took to get to them. 

Peter felt something in his sixteen year old chest crack as he read the letter again, surrounded by the corpses of people he did not have to kill. 

-

The first year adjusting to courtly living was a horrible mix of joy and misery. It took no time at all for the other nobles to notice his gloves and pass their judgments on him. They whispered about the war torn Hale and his strange clawed gloves, yet spoke praises of his brave effort out on the front lines. He despised them. He despised the entire castle he'd fought for. He stalked the halls like an angry spectre, scaring off the wool headed royals who’d dare praise him a hero. Peter was not a hero.

Not even his family knew what to do with him, his sister had ascended and she was no longer his sweet doting Tally. Queen Talia had no time for one wounded member of the pack. The health of the pack should've fallen to his other siblings and their children, but they shunned him for his oddities and bitterness. The only moments of true genuine joy Peter experienced were when Queen Talia tasked him with looking after Laura. 

Laura was a fierce and wild nine year old, she bucked against her princess training and ran head first into her combat training with Peter. Laura would have been an excellent war time queen, but Peter knew he'd never let her reach that potential. He taught her about the usefulness of spies and assassins, of court intrigue and intelligent bluffing. Laura would never need to command an army. She would be a fierce and terrifying queen, who would crush any threat to her family and kingdom well before it could snowball into a war. 

“Peter I need your help.” Laura's soft steps had alerted Peter to her presence long before she'd spoken. 

Peter was not easily startled these days, still too alert and constantly looking for the enemy hiding around the corner at every step. Enemies that looked like his countrymen. Enemies that just wanted the fighting to leave their land. Enemies that were no longer enemies, yet died anyways. 

“Your wish is my command, Princess.” 

“Cousin James has been mocking me to the other royals. And I don't like it.” 

“We'll just have to take care of him then, won't we, Wildheart?” 

Laura nodded once, determined and vengeful. 

James found himself with a bed full of spiders that night and Laura's mischievous grin the next morning left no question as to who did it. 

Peter was already damned but he still wouldn't let anyone sully Laura's standing with the royals no matter how far from her coronation she might be. 

-

At the age of twenty-three Peter spent his time in the war room always preparing and planning for another Bloody War. He could occasionally remove his gloves when he was alone and calm, and only in his dreams did he hear the screams of the three thousand, two hundred and seventy-nine people he’d slaughtered. 

Peter lived for those beautiful moments he spent surrounded by the nieces and nephews he would never let see the fields of battle. He would slaughter an entire kingdom before any more Hale children felt the warm slide of their bloody palms on a sword hilt. 

The seven years following The Bloody War had graced their kingdom with many children, especially the royal family. Queen Talia and her consort Ronan were blessed with five children, their eldest Laura being the only one out of the six born during the war. Derek was growing into a head strong but soft young man, his bullheaded tenderness was something Peter would protect until his dying breath. Laura and Cora were cut from a much more ruthless cloth one that helped the sixteen year old princess prepare to ascend to the throne in the coming years, and the feisty four year old growl and bite at anyone that dared to cross her. Calliope was still an infant, but Peter could see the fearsome wolf she’d make in her sharp green eyes. 

“Peter!” his nephew’s voice crying out for him sent a bolt of panic through Peter’s heart before he could remind himself that there was no war, that they were safe. 

“Derek-darling is everything alright?” 

“Laura won’t let me into the council room with her and mom!” Derek’s cheeks were puffed out and his face contorted into a frown. 

Peter concealed his huff of laughter at the sight of Derek’s foot stomping the ground once harshly. 

“Let’s join them shall we?” Peter offered with a devilish grin. 

Derek and Peter’s mischievous glee was contagious as they strode down the corridors, the staff grinning back at them knowing they were up to no good. 

Peter pushed the doors to the council room open with both gloved hands in a dramatic flourish. 

“Hello my Wildheart.” 

“Uncle Peter. What brings you to the daily council?” Laura’s voice was ice cold steel as she stared at him from her seat at the head of the table. 

“I was looking for your mother, do you lead these meetings now little niece?” Peter’s smooth voice a warm contrast to her wrath as he used his body to hide Derek’s as the boy slipped into a open chair. 

“I’ve been leading these daily debriefs for the last six months, Peter.” Laura was standing now, both palms flat on the table. 

“Ah yes, that’s right. Must have slipped my mind Princess Laura. Silly Uncle Peter, must have lost all my sense over the years.” 

“Please excuse us, Uncle Peter.” Laura’s tone brokered no argument, which is exactly what Peter wanted. 

He nodded politely and bowed deeply, “Your will is my command.” 

He’d been able to sneak Derek in and remind the council that not only is Peter an asshole he also only listens to Queen Talia and now her heir Princess Laura. If they were as cunning as they looked they would realize the significance of that and fall in line every single time Laura demanded it. 

-

Twenty years had passed since Peter had murdered three thousand, two hundred and seventy-nine people. He had killed more in the past two decades, but those men did not weigh on his conscience. 

Peter had hunted down and taken care of every single Argent that had anything to do with his brother's death. It was more than he'd originally thought, so many more. 

King Raphael had dismissed the Argents shortly after the war had ended, no longer needing to stick to his guns and no longer needing the extra man power. The dismissal had made capturing and torturing the responsible men much easier for Peter and soon he'd discovered an entire plot against his family going all the way to the patriarch Gerard Argent, who had been the King's head general for decades. 

Peter could not kill the old man, he was too well guarded. He'd no doubt noticed which of his men were disappearing and had closed ranks. Peter would finish the job soon, that he was sure of. 

Cora's sixteenth birthday was fast approaching and Peter dreaded the celebration more than he dreaded most things these days. He'd been spared Laura's 16th birthday ball and week long celebrations by being out on a mission for his sister. 

Derek's birthday had came and passed in a quiet evening with just his family. Peter had spent the entire day arranging it. He'd had the entire family wait in the Great Hall while he went to fetch Derek from the Armory training rooms. The pleased smile on Derek's shy face had made the entire ordeal worth it. Derek had wanted his birthday to pass quietly but that did not mean it'd have to be lonely too. 

Cora's week long celebrations would be the death of the great warrior Peter Hale, and what a way to go it'd be. They had brought in performers from all across the world, exotic animals to stare at with wonder, magic users, and shifters of all kinds. Their neighboring rulers had sent emissaries to stay the full week and Peter was wary of the volume of strangers filling their halls. Calliope was the youngest of Peters nieces at a rambunctious thirteen and she was positively glowing with excitement. Peter smiled fondly at the whirlwind of long brown hair and voluminous pink skirts that passed him with a girlish giggle. 

Peter felt a disconnect between himself and Talia’s youngest daughters, the age gap perhaps too great to see them as anything but children. He was a man of thirty-five and his relationship with Laura and Derek had been founded in a codependency on his nephew and niece due to his mental health deteriorating by the day, and now he had no idea how to connect to Cora and Calliope as much as he had with Laura and Derek. Maybe that was normal, maybe it was his relationship with the elder two that was not. 

“Uncle Peter.” Laura nodded her greeting as she passed, completely knocking him out of his pensive thoughts. 

He nodded back with a wink. 

He did not care if he was too close to Laura and Derek. They were closest to his age and were somehow always near and ready to help him when he needed it. Laura would ascend soon, already older than Talia had been when she'd been crowned. Peter would gladly follow her every command, she had grown into a strong beautiful woman and would lead them well. 

“Uncle. The McCall emissary is going to be a handful.” Derek's voice was calm, as was his face, yet Peter knew the boy well enough to see the stress in his body language.

“How do you know that, darling nephew? Aren't you two the same age?” Peter asked with fake Innocence.

He'd heard of the general's son, always moving, always thinking. He knew that kind of energy and brain power would lead to mischief and mayhem. He also knew that that one particular emissary would clash so much with Derek's slow and calm personality that his nephew wouldn't last a day looking after the other man. He knew these things long before the man stepped foot in Peter's home. 

“Yes. Indeed we are, but there is an innocence to him that makes him seem closer to Calli than I. Truthfully I believe they'd get on well and she should be tasked with this one emissary.” Derek was pleading with Peter for something Peter could not give. 

All he needed to do was convince the man only Derek could do it, “Calliope would be ill suited to watch out for any emissary, much less the brilliant son of the McCall's highest general. She would show him things and tell him things someone of that position should not be knowing. Things he could use against us. It would take a truly noble man indeed to watch over a man of that caliber.” 

Peter looked at his nephew intently. 

“Yes, uncle. I understand. He is simply too important and too great a threat. I will not shy from my tasks.” Derek spoke gravely, as if the weight of the kingdom was on his nineteen year old shoulders. 

“I was going to suggest I watch the man, but if you insist, darling boy.” Peter laughed quietly at Derek's squawk. 

Derek was so easily flustered Peter simply could not help himself. He did take pity on the man eventually, offering his services if the general's son became too much. Derek relaxed at that, content in knowing Peter would be there to support him. The younger man left him with a shy smile and a quiet goodbye. 

Peter continued his rounds of the castle checking each and every corridor and hiding spot for any kind of malicious or suspicious activity. His rounds were not a part of his duties, yet he would not let anything happen to upset his niece or endanger his family. It wasn’t too long into his route that he felt the presence of another person. 

He continued to stroll down the corridor without worry, keeping subtle track of his newly acquired shadow. He knew was following him, the scent of one’s homeland never quite leaving them, so naturally he headed to the Great Hall. 

Once inside the large room he took a seat in a private secluded area and ordered two servings of dinner and two pints of ale. The servant Peter had hailed made quick work of bringing him the food and then disappearing, Peter would have to put a good word with the kitchen head after supper. 

“Are you going to watch me all night or would you prefer to join me, Lord Stilinski?” Peter asked calmly before tearing a piece of bread off and popping it into his mouth. 

He was answered by an indignant huff and quiet footsteps as the young man approached the table. 

“How did you know I was following you?” Mieczysław Stilinski asked petulantly as he too ripped off a piece of bread and ate it.

“You silenced your heart and footsteps, which was very clever, but you did not hide your scent. I will never forget the scent of the Northern Wilds. That is where you and your father hail from is it not?” Peter gazed into large amber eyes as he spoke, intrigued by the light he found hiding behind them. 

The young Stilinski was not what he had expected. Peter had heard many stories about the mischievous boy running wild in the neighboring kingdom’s capital, stories that said he was tainting the young McCall heir, stories that spoke of a wicked sort of intelligence that lended itself towards dark deeds and shenanigans instead of the cold calculation and planning that would be expected of him if he was to follow his father’s footsteps. 

None of the stories had mentioned the light Peter saw behind his whiskey eyes, nor the freckles that peppered his pale skin, or even the skillful way his long fingers tore into food. Peter found himself imagining other things he’d like to see those dexterous fingers grip onto, wrap around, and pull on before he could snap himself out of it. 

“Yes, well my family remembers the war even if others may like to forget. I have learned many tricks over the years, many of which specifically designed to hide from those with superior senses and strength.” The young man before him had subtly transformed into the roll he would one day no doubt fill well. 

His shoulders were broad and his chest and arms hinted he was more sturdy and strong than his initial appearance would suggest. His eyes were no longer glancing around, taking in every movement and sound from the many people around them, but now focused solely on Peter’s own. His knee had stopped bouncing and his fingers had stopped strumming the table as he spoke his threat. 

Peter was enraptured by the change he saw in the man. 

“That is all well and good young lordling, but you do not have the experience to sneak up on me. I may be of an age with you, but we are worlds apart in what cards the world has dealt us. By your age I had already fought for two years in the front lines. I had already begun my duty of Left Hand to my sister.” The man’s face warped into offended defiance, which Peter did not like one bit. 

“I do not wish my hardships and burdens on anyone.  It has been a very hard life, one I will not see anyone in my family go through so long as I live. Do not mistake my words for mockery. You have impressed me today, Mieczysław” Peter didn’t know why he was already exposing so much of his inner thoughts to this man, but something about the younger man disarmed him. 

The McCall emissary looked at Peter for a moment before speaking slowly and deliberately as if choosing his words carefully, “I am honored the Claw of the South has praised me so, but I am curious as to why you have revealed so much to me. I am new to the customs and traditions of your country and of our roles to each other so forgive my boldness, but I simply do not understand.” 

Peter found himself unable and unwilling to silence the laughter that spilled out of him, “Curious, surely. New and unknowledgeable? Impossible. You do not have to hide your intelligence from me,  Mieczysław. I know who you are and where your skills lie, just as you know who I am and where mine do. I will not underestimate your wit, so please do not underestimate mine.” 

The younger man leaned back in his chair and grinned, “Thank gods. I truly despise not being able to speak freely. Do you see me as a rabbit before the wolf, Sir Hale? Is that why you speak with a loose tongue and easy mannerism despite my position in my kingdom, the same kingdom you once waged war against?” 

It was immensely pleasing to watch the younger man go through yet another transformation, this one seeming more genuine. Peter found himself appreciating the spread of the man’s lips and was unsurprised to find an answering smirk on his own face. 

“I see not a rabbit but a wolf in sheep’s wool pretending he is anything but a predator dancing with another, and please call me Peter.” It was not custom or proper, but gods damn him he liked this young man. 

“Wolf I am not, Peter. You may call me Stiles.” Stiles looked up as Derek entered the Great Hall, his face red and his panic barely concealed, “It seems my nurse maid has found me.” 

Peter chuckled before motioning to his nephew to join them, “Be easy on Derek, darling, he is not well suited to having to watch over so many people.” 

Stiles shot him a grin and a wink before exclaiming, “Prince Derek! There you are! Are you hiding from me perchance?” 

Derek’s eyes bulged as he took a seat next to Peter, “Of course not Lord Stilinski. I apologize for my absence.” 

Peter’s smile was fond as he patted his nephew’s shoulder, “Yes Lord Stilinski, please forgive my nephew for not being at your beck and call all day.”

“Truly a capital offense if I am frank.” Stiles spoke with faux offense. 

“You two are jesting.” the realization made Derek’s mouth open slightly and his brows furrow. 

“Yes, sweet nephew. Lord Stilinski does not mind your absence seeing as he is the one whom engineers it.” Peter gripped the back of Derek’s neck in support. 

“Do forgive me, prince, I meant no harm. I do not respond to rules very well I’m afraid. Fortune has smiled upon you though, for you your uncle has volunteered to watch over me in the coming days.” Stiles’ smile was so innocent Peter found himself grinning at the man. 

“He did?” 

“Truly, nephew. We were just discussing it as you approached.” 

Derek was quick enough to notice that they were in fact not discussing it as he approached and had likely not discussed it at all, but he was never one to take an easy out for granted. 

“If Lord Stilinski and you do not mind the change I would be ever grateful for the freetime the arrangement would allow me.” Derek looked sheepish as he nodded to both of them and hurried off with a wave. 

“He is a good man. Kind, despite his standing. There is a softness to him I do not see in many. His sisters also share this softness, though Princess Laura hides hers well. I suspect that has something to do with your previous statements.” Stiles gave Peter a considering look. 

Peter nodded once before replying, “You’re suspicion would be correct. I have spoiled them with my protection and bloodied hands, and I will never regret it.” 

Stiles met Peter’s cold, honest gaze for a moment before nodded too, “I had assumed as much. They are better off for your protection. I was not given such a luxury and have seen many things I would not wish anyone I cherished to see.” 

That surprised Peter, he had heard that the general was fiercely protective of his only child and after a witch’s curse took his wife the general had held onto his son for sanity. He wondered briefly if his mother’s descent into madness had something to do with the sights a man of Stiles’ inner strength would not wish for anyone to see. 

“We are of a similar mind then and I am glad to have met you Stiles Stilinski. I must finish my rounds of the castle. I will fetch you when I am finished if you would like to join me outside to oversee the festival preparations.”

Stiles smiled broadly at him, “I will be looking forward to that Peter. It was an honor and a pleasure to meet you.” 

With that Peter took his exit and opened his senses completely to seek out anyone with ill intent. 

-

Peter had tracked Stiles’ exit for as long as his nose picked up that intriguing scent and his ears could hear that erratic heart beat, but that had only been for a moment or two before they were too far apart. There was too much to be done for Peter to allow his senses to bring him back to the devilish man. He would not allow himself to fret over this new found interest, it had been years since he’d felt free enough of his shame and darkness to truly be enraptured by another person. He would not deny himself the exhilaration of the chase. 

“What’s got you so happy, Uncle?” Calliope skipped up to his side. 

A servant passing by gave her an incredulous look, Peter knew was from the fact that he did not look or seem happy at all. Calliope was able to see auras and was never wrong in her interpretations of them. Peter liked to wait her out and let the thirteen year old finish her prediction. 

“It seems that you’re excited about something. Someone. Your old shame pulses a touch stronger when you think of them, but not so much that it overshadows your interest. Uncle, are you in love with the McCall emissary?”  Calliope grinned at him like the cat that caught the mouse. 

Peter’s steps faltered for a breath before he’d composed himself more to reply, “No, child. Not yet, but it could happen my sweet niece.” 

Calliope noded wisely as if she understood what that meant to someone as wounded as Peter. He smiled at her softly, she always tried to hide her age because being the youngest princess meant she was forever doomed to being the babied one. 

Peter elbowed her lightly before petting her hair softly, “You are getting quite good Reading, my girl. Have you been practicing?” 

Peter listened to his youngest niece chatter as he walked the corridors of his home. 

-

Peter did not seek out Stiles. He knew his position of power over the younger man and did not wish to be an overbearing presence. He finished his rounds and returned to his rooms to brood and sulk, he was not ashamed to admit it. He’d never taken a shining to someone so fast or strongly, yet this brilliant young man has wrapped Peter in his spell immediately. Stiles was not a safe person to be enamored by. He was quick and so very smart, and he was the heir to the general’s seat in the McCall kingdom. Being with Stiles could only be a fling, and for once in Peter’s life he did not want something he could forget after a few weeks. He wanted something that’d last. 

Peter stayed in his rooms brooding for many hours, trying to think of a way to have his man and keep him too. The idea had struck late into the afternoon and left Peter grinning ferally as he signed three letters and placed them in the collection box beside his door. He had a plan and he needed to get things rolling quickly if he wanted to see it come to fruition before Stiles left him. 

He wrapped himself in an ornate yet dark and sturdy cloak before striding out of his rooms, his route taking him to the service stairs that would deposit him next to the guests’ rooms. He walked quietly to Stiles’ door and knocked lightly. He had told the younger man he would collect him to patrol the festival preparations and in the dark of night they would be able to slip between performer tents without being seen.  

Stiles opened the door with a sly grin, “Why the secrecy Sir Hale?” 

Peter growled playfully in his throat, “You know why, you devilish thing. The hour is late and our positions great. We-”

“Ha! You rhymed!” 

“Should not be seen together without the sun to illumine our deeds.” Peter finished with an eyebrow raised. 

Stiles was still smiling at him. He took a step out of the safety of his room to place a broad hand on Peter’s chest, “And what deeds are those that we must keep a secret?” 

Peter felt his blood boil with the need to inhale Stiles’ scent, to feel his flesh against Stiles’ freckled skin, to capture Stiles’ smart mouth with his own. 

Stiles gasped before using the hand on Peter’s chest to pull the man into his doorway. 

“Your eyes are blue.”

Peter blinked out of his thoughts and realized Stiles was not speaking of Peter’s human blue eyes which he wouldn’t be able to see in the dark of the hallway. Peter had forgotten that his eye would shift when he was excited, so many of his partners had been shifters themselves he had not thought about the shift overtaking him when his heart was racing with want and need. 

Peter took a dazed step back, out of Stiles’ grip and back into the hallway as his mind raced. He had forgotten the animal part of himself and had scared the human he wanted more than anything, all because he could not control himself. His human was born after the war but he knew the things Peter had done. 

The words, “...well my family remembers the war even if others may like to forget. I have learned many tricks over the years, many of which specifically designed to hide from those with superior senses and strength..” came to Peter’s mind unbidden. 

“F-Forgive me, Lord Stilinski, I am needed elsewhere.” Was the most Peter could gasp out before he slipped into the shadow out in the hall, too quick for Stiles’ human eyes to follow. 

How could he have forgotten that despite his human features and human mind he was still a monster? A monster Stiles was scared of. 

-

Peter walked the perimeter of the courtyard which housed the festival workers. His eyes illuminated in the darkness as he watched for any misdeeds or ill intent. The dancers had already sent word about people watching them in the night, which infuriated Talia and Peter. Their castle grounds would not be home to “peepers and creepers” as Calliope eloquently put when she found out. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” 

Peter must have been hallucinating because there was no way Stiles had managed to sneak up on him when he was actively scanning the area with his senses, and yet there he was. The older man turned to face the human with a look of shock and bewilderment evident in his eyes alone. 

Stiles laughed delightfully in Peter’s face before whispering, “I have a knack for some magicks. Particularly the ones that function like puzzles and require no born talent. I’ve never been able to leave a puzzle unsolved.” 

“You figured out how to hide your presence from me.” 

“Did you think I sat idly in my rooms all day while you patrolled? I could never!” Stiles barked a laugh and smiled kindly at Peter. 

“How did you know figure it out so fast?” Peter forgot his shock and his earlier shame in the light of Stiles’ brilliance. 

“You told me I forgot to hide my scent, so after we left the great hall I went to the library and found a book. It took me most of the day unfortunately and without a shifter to practice on I had no idea if it was actually concealed until now.” Stiles looked disappointed in himself.

“Mieczysław that spell takes most seedless months to master. And you did it in less than a day, by yourself, with only a book to guide you.” 

“Yes. I think if I’d had my tutor with me I could’ve solved it much sooner.” Stiles frowned.

Peter grasped his face between his large hands, “Stiles you’re amazing.” 

Stiles looked up into Peter’s eyes and smiled broadly, his cheeks flushing under Peter’s praise. 

“Can I kiss you?”

Peter was shocked by the boy again as the question left is plump lips, but he was able to nod quietly even in his shock. 

Their lips met in a warm sweet dance that filled his entire being with a sense of wonder. 

_ This is love? _

The thought passed through his mind as Stiles pulled him closer, their chests pressed tightly together as if they were both using the other for balance, as if they were not connected at every point they would surely stop being able to breathe. 

Peter pulled back first, “Mieczysław. You are so dear to me. How have you broken me in such a short amount of time?” 

His forehead rested against the younger man’s as they panted and stared into each other’s eyes. 

“I like solving puzzles, Peter, especially when they are smart, intriguing, antagonizing, beautiful puzzles.” Stiles was grinning at him full of pride. 

Peter huffed a laugh, “Is that all I am? A puzzle to be solved?” 

“I’ll never solve all of your mysteries, but I want to try. Peter I don’t know how or why but this feels more than right. I haven’t felt this contented in the arms of anyone but my mother. I haven’t felt settled since her death, and yet here I am at home in a stranger’s arms and settled enough to never move again.” Stiles’ eyes were so open and honest as his voice wrapped itself more tightly around Peter’s heart. 

“You are my peace, Mieczysław.” 

“And you are my ho-” Stiles was cut off by a woman’s angry yell and the sound of glass breaking. 

“It seems you have a matter to deal with, my dark midnight vigilante.” 

Peter nodded solemnly. He could now better hear the sounds of someone throwing things around their tent. He kissed Stiles once more and turned to leave.

As Peter melted into shadow he heard Stiles mutter to himself, “A midnight vigilante in a dark billowing cloak. I’d read about that any day.” 

Peter chuckled to himself at the foolish man he’d fallen in love with. 

-

For Peter the days leading to the ball passed in a blur of meetings and luggage searches. He longed for his lover in the long days performing his duties, but never in the short nights they spent tangled together. Peter cherished those quiet hours more than he cherished most of the days in his life. Stiles was a blessing he wasn’t ready to give up, the ball becoming a countdown to their goodbyes. 

His plan was coming to fruition in a smooth wave that made him grin ferally to himself. He probably looked like the big bad wolf that'd just caught little red riding hood, which wasn't too far off from the truth. 

Many letters had been sent between many kingdoms leaving Peter absolutely prepared for the ball even if he was dreading it's ending. Something was going to change for everyone by the end of the festival, but Peter did not welcome change as readily as others. Despite the fact that it was a change he himself orchestrated, he fretted. 

“Uncle, why are you not dressed for the rehearsal?” Peter rubbed a hand down his face wearily as Derek entered his rooms already telling him what to do. 

“Because, darling nephew, I’ve been to many balls and I do indeed know where to go and what to say. And most importantly, I don’t want to.” 

Derek huffed a breath of unsurprised laughter at his uncle’s childish ways, “But alas, you must.” 

“Must you say?” 

“Must.” 

“I’d like to see someone make me.” Peter smirked at the younger man, “Perhaps I’ll test your mother’s and sister’s patience another time.” 

Derek crossed his arms and looked the part of the muscle man sent to get their unruly uncle in line, but Peter saw the mirth in Derek’s features and found himself rustling the boy’s hair as he passed. 

The rehearsal would be boring and would take most of the night, but for the younger ones it was an important event. Peter would suffer the boredom to keep the peace. For one more night anyways. 

-

Stiles sought him out immediately once the ceremonies and introductions had finished. Peter handed him the drink he had already retrieved for the man and smiled at his lover. 

“Dreadfully boring don’t you think?” 

“Of course, darling, but fret not we are now in the interesting portion of the evening.” Peter patted the arm that had somehow wound itself around his own. 

“Very true! I am excited to see what wonders have made their way into the royal spot light for the night.” 

And wonders they were. Acrobats and jugglers hurling things and themselves through the air, animals of all kinds trumpeting around the great hall, and when it was all over and the guests moved to the ballroom to dance psychics and fortune tellers set up shop. Peter had seen much of what was to come from his patrols, but seeing the people practice snippets versus seeing them perform was incomparable. He was in awe of the magnificent feats ordinary people accomplished without the aid of magicks or shifter strength. Stiles whispered various single worded praises throughout the night, squeezing his arm tightly when a performer did something particularly dangerous or dazzling. 

Peter could’ve spent the rest of his life losing blood circulation and watching those performers, but there was a question to be asked and a future to change. When the time came to dance Peter dragged a reluctant Stiles out to the dance floor. They dance idly to the first song, warming up contently while sharing kisses. 

Finally in the third song, their fingers intertwined and Peter’s hand securely on Stiles’ waist he whispered, “I am a coward.” 

Stiles blinked at him, the dazed happy smile falling from his face, “What do you mean, my wolf?” 

“I have an offer to make you Mieczysław and I fear you will reject me, so I stand here a coward despite my many years of fighting.”  Peter stared earnestly into Stiles’ doe like eyes. 

“Ask me.” 

“Will you travel the world with me?” Stiles gave a spluttering gasp and Peter finished in a rush, “We would be mediators for kingdoms. Sometimes acting as left hand sometimes as advisors. Whatever we wanted.” 

“Peter.” Stiles was stunned and speechless, but Peter couldn’t tell if he was happy speechless or offended speechless. 

“I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t want either of us in a position we had to take. I’m tired of being left hand, Stiles, and you don’t want to follow your father’s footsteps. We could carve our own paths. Outside of family and duty.” Peter pleaded with the younger man, his feet completely still on the ballroom floor. 

Before Stiles could speak a hand landed on Peter’s shoulder, a hand that belonged to the McCall’s top general. And Stiles’ father. 

“You two are making quite the scene. Perhaps I should take a turn dancing with my son, Claw.” John Stilinski’s voice was not unkind and Peter knew he was on his side about Stiles being able to see the world, but it did not stop his flinch. 

“Don’t call him that.” Peter’s apparently pain and discomfort knocked Stiles out of his shock. 

“Apologies, Sir Peter. Now I think I will have a word and a dance with my son.” John’s gaze was soft but stern and Peter found himself nodding dumbly. 

Peter could not stand to watch Stiles as his father presumably tried to talk him into taking Peter’s offer, if he was even talking him into it and not making his own offer of the same nature but this time without Peter. He growled quietly to himself as he pushed out of the crowd between the ballroom and the hallway leading to the great hall. 

“A great decision lays heavily on you.” 

Peter jumped and spun quickly to face the old lady that had sneaked up on him. 

“Who are you?” 

“Who I am does not matter. You will receive the answer you want, so fret not, wolf.” 

Peter flashed a mouth full of fangs before snapping, “Shut it. I don’t want a prediction. I want him to barge out of those doors and tell me he loves me.” 

He straightened after his voice cracked softly on the last words. He was not a weak child intimidated by those who could read auras and interpret the weavings of fate, and he was not one of these sheep headed fools that was awe struck by them either. 

The old lady just smiled back and him and turned to leave, but not before looking at him one last time and saying, “Count to eleven my dear.” 

Peter turned to face the door leading to the ballroom.

**One**

_ This is stupid. _

**Two**

_ I know there is truth _

**Three**

_ But I cannot know _

**Four**

_ If the truth she says _

**Five**

_ Is the truth I hear _

**Six**

_ What if  _

**Seven**

_ I get to eleven _

**Eight**

_ And instead of Stiles _

**Nine**

_ It’s an attack _

**Ten**

_ But what if  _

**Eleven**

_ It’s not _

“Peter!” 

Peter snapped out of his dark thoughts and found himself already running towards Stiles’ frantic heartbeat. 

“Stiles!” 

Finally Peter was able to pull Stiles free of the mass of people and into his shaky embrace. He pulled back slowly, too selfish to let the younger man go completely. 

“Yes.” 

Peter’s head canted to the left as he blinked at Stiles. 

“Peter, yes!” 

Stiles was saying yes. Stiles was saying yes to Peter. Stiles was saying yes to a future with Peter by his side. 

Peter dropped his head back and howled in triumph while Stiles giggled sweetly in his arms. He had somehow managed to convince this wonderful boy he was not the damaged wreckage of a man that he felt, and now he was never letting go. 

“Your eyes are blue.” This time Peter could clearly hear the reverence in Stiles’ voice and smell the joy and lust in his heartbeat. 

“And you are mine, sweetheart.” Peter purred with content, leaning down to kiss the top of Stiles’ head.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
